


Weary

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-09
Updated: 2003-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: He tried to sleep.





	Weary

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Weary**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Category/Characters:** General, Josh  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Summary:** He tried to sleep.  
**Spoilers:** vaguely third season  
**Disclaimer:** "America," which is referenced here, was written by Paul Simon.  "The West Wing" is by Aaron Sorkin and others.  I'm neither Aaron Sorkin nor "others," (and I'm not even Paul Simon), and I'm also not making money, so pwease don't sue me?  
**Author's Note:** First season.  Fluff.  Vaguely ensemble.  

It was much like the first campaign, he thought, except that instead of living in a cramped bus, they were calling the expansive Air Force One their home now.  They'd stopped telling time in hours and days; rather, they told time with how many cities they'd been to, and the steady growl of the engines was background noise, blended into the landscape of their journey.  They were slowly slipping back into their old ways, when Bartlet was just a dark horse candidate out of New Hampshire.  Long nights, rewrites, and petty fights dotted the landscape of their campaign, but there was a common bond that lay beneath the surface weariness.  There had to be, because otherwise they wouldn't be here.

Tonight was one of those long nights, and he closed his eyes and leaned back against the overstuffed, tan chair he was in.  He could hear Sam, Toby, and Bruno arguing in the room, across it really (this was Air Force One, after all, and quite expansive), and he turned his head, burying one ear in that plush headrest. 

"We can't put *that* on the table," Bruno said across the room, and Josh stretched his legs out in front of him.  Eyes closed, and mouth shut in a thin line, he pulled his shoulders closer to his body.  "We can't bring it out yet," he said, and though Josh had no idea what Bruno was talking about, he immediately flashed to social security.  He pulled his legs back close.

CJ walked in, but he didn't know it until she spoke.  "Josh, would you wake up?"  He cracked an eye open, and glared at her; she wasn't paying attention to him anymore, and he thought that it's been a while since he'd seen her without make-up on.  The skin under her eyes seemed puffy, and she looked pale (but what else would one expect, what with the long nights they were always pulling).  He closed his eye again, and rolled over a bit, pulling his jacket closer to his chin like a blanket.  

She was joining in on the conversation with Toby, Sam, and Bruno, and they all agreed that they shouldn't bring "it" to the table, whatever "it" was.  This was too near election, and they wanted to sway the middle to support them.  Best to go with the middle ground (unless you're a dark horse candidate out of New Hampshire, because that gives you permission to fight with *fire*), because there are more people in the middle who just don't care one way or another.  You could sway them, in the middle, but if you're too open about issues, you might alienate them.  

"We'll bring it up after the election," Toby agreed, and Josh's half- asleep mind thought, That's what Hoynes said.  But he was half- asleep, and, hey, Hoynes was the Vice President, which isn't too bad a position.  He went to the middle, and he's the veep, so it can't be that bad to leave issues out of the limelight.  True, the President hadn't gone to the middle, but he wasn't president then, and he hadn't disclosed his illness then, either. 

Blinking his eyes open, Josh thought that he might be thinking too much to get to sleep.  Turning his head the other way, he pulled his legs up under him, ignoring the slight soreness in his side when he did so.  The bullet wound still ached, sometimes, when he was trying to get to sleep, but he always ignored it now.  It was background noise, blended into the landscape of his journey. 

He heard the door open and close, and he could faintly smell Connie's perfume as she brushed past him.  "Brought the sandwiches," she said, and Josh could smell that, too, as everyone else opened the little plastic containers that held their food.  It smelled like the food at the VFW hall he'd first heard Bartlet speak at (gross, cold, and tasteless fried chicken); he'd brought issues to the table, that night and every other night of the campaign.  They had been running to keep everyone else in line, then.  They didn't know they would actually win. 

Leo came in, prefaced by a growl of, "Whaddya got for me?" before the door even had a chance to shut.  Josh felt a hand jostle his shoulder, and he would have almost smiled, except this was the man who'd told him of The Real Thing.  This was the man who'd pulled him from the safe, middle-ground Senator Hoynes to go work for Bartlet, and now they were going to the middle ground themselves (but the middle ground will get them re-elected, they all say).  Safe versus unsafe.  Middle ground versus saying what they actually mean.  He turned back to the cold, thick window, and rested his face against it; the thrum of the engines vibrated the glass against his cheek, and he drifted off to sleep. 

He slept, sporadically, waking every now and again to hear them discussing what was good to bring to the table--education, lowering the debt, foreign relations--and what wasn't--the fight against big tobacco, gay rights, health care or health in general.  Safe topics, versus what they would save for when they won.  If they won, he wanted to say to them, but he was trying to get some sleep, and he wasn't really paying much attention to the conversation to begin with. 

Cathy came in, with a phone call message for Sam.  He only heard her, since his face was facing away from them all, and he couldn't see anything anyway because his eyes were closed.  The door slammed shut moments later, and he started awake, turning to see who'd disrupted him.  It must have been Sam, because everyone else was still there, including Cathy; in fact, she was standing beside his seat, looking down at him. 

"You okay there, Josh?" she asked, a hint of concern on her face.

He looked up at her, blinking, and an old song popped into his mind.  It involved a woman named Cathy and a cross-country trip (Simon & Garfunkel!  He used to listen to them, when he was younger and had more hair on the front of his head).  He chuckled, shook the thought out of his mind.  "I'm fine," he said, smiling up at her. 

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked, though she sat down across from him before he replied.  He nodded anyway, and rested his head back against the window.  Across the room, the rest of the staff, minus Sam, were all still talking about--something.  Not the campaign anymore, and he heard Leo say something, then he heard them all laugh loudly.  The window was cold against his cheek, and he closed his eyes. 

Moments later, he opened his eyes again, sleep escaping him.  The night sky was turning to morning, a pink tinge on the horizon above the clouds, and the stars were beginning to fade.  The long night was almost over, and he'd had little sleep, as usual.  Weary, he looked over at Cathy; she was recumbent, eyes closed, and her eyelids twitched, telling him that she was already in REM sleep.

"Cathy, I'm lost," he said, though he knew she was sleeping.

-end-


End file.
